


Brood

by ancalime8301



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: avengerkink, Confinement, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Multi, Psychological Torture, Restraints, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: Tony's true purpose with the Avengers has nothing to do with his tech.(Movie-verse compliant from the end of Avengers through Captain America: Civil War.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have only ever read my Marvel stuff, this one may seem like it's come out of left field... those who have read me in my other fandoms, well, mpreg is definitely familiar ground. ;-) Heed the warnings, tags, etc., etc. The pertinent portions of the prompt are below so you have no excuse not to realize what you're getting into.  
>  
> 
> Written for an avengerkink [prompt](https://avengerkink.livejournal.com/21013.html?thread=53647125#t53647125): _Tony/team, Tony forced to breed super babies for SHIELD (non-con/rape, torture)_
> 
> _The only reason Tony is allowed to become part of the Avengers is because he's the only male among them capable of getting pregnant. This is not an A/O/B, it's just a universe where some men can get pregnant with no a/o/b tags of alphas, omega, bonding etc. Tony may be Iron man with a positive relationship with his team to the world, but behind closed doors he's a breeding cow, because SHIELD wants future heroes who have one of the Avenger's powers/strengths combined with Tony's genius._
> 
> _So Steve, Thor, Clint, Bruce, can even include Natasha, and Wanda, Vision and Pietro (can be alive for this), even Bucky if you want, all have a time scheduled to knock Tony up til he's preggers with said Avenger's child. In that time Tony's off work as his belly bulges with the future hero. Once he gives birth, the child's handed to SHEILD and the Avenger who fathered it. Then the process starts all over for Tony with the next Avenger knocking Tony up to get their kid out of him. they take turns with Tony, not going all at once_  
>  Tony's never been happy about it, and isn't in a romantic relationship with them. It's all business and part of his job. Tony can't fight SHIELD's binding contract unless he's ready to enter a difficult fight in court.
> 
> _Time passes where Tony's birthed a kid to most if not all of his teammates, and only they are allowed to see and interact with their children, while Tony has no right to see or interact with them. Sick of this treatment of being told to roll over to be breed, Tony reveals what's going on and takes this thing to court to end his enslavement as a baby making machine and to get custody of all the children he's birthed._
> 
> _..._
> 
> _Bonuses:_
> 
> _lactating Tony. Maybe to keep him from seeing his kids SHIELD agents pump out his milk._
> 
> _For much Tony whump. Lost in stress, frustration, pain, trauma, etc._
> 
> Originally posted anonymously to the avengerkink community in October 2017.

Thor was first. When he took Loki and the cube and returned to where they came from, Tony had already bent over and taken it and was suffering the first effects of morning sickness.

This wasn't his first time, though it was the first time he'd made it this far and he observed the changes to his body with scientific detachment, recording everything and comparing it to known baselines. It was either that or shake his fist in SHIELD's general direction and curse until he lost his voice over what was being done to him. This was not the sort of legacy he'd imagined leaving for the world.

SHIELD knew he'd returned from Afghanistan pregnant, knew he'd miscarried as a result of the palladium poisoning (not that he'd minded), and they, too, watched his progress closely.

Despite their strong recommendations, he continued using the suit and going on missions until the suit no longer fit around his growing waistline. When that day came, he went on a hunger strike that ended only when he passed out. He came to in SHIELD medical, a tube down his throat and his wrists tied to the bed.

He managed to work his way free of the restraints and pull out the tube twice before they used handcuffs instead. Then he resorted to trying to bite through the tube. They put a muzzle on him so he couldn't move his jaw.

Through it all, there was no sign of his supposed teammates and he wondered what load of b.s. SHIELD had fed them. Or, worse, they knew exactly what was going on and decided not to interfere. As one day dragged into another, he put his money on the latter.

When they finally allowed him out of the restraints, he was given permission to return to the tower provided he comply with a very strict set of rules. Lack of compliance would have unspecified consequences, but by then he wasn't sure he wanted to find out how creative they could be.

He told the team as little as possible about what was going on, embarrassed about being caught in the situation in the first place, embarrassed by his body and the undeniably visible evidence of his condition, embarrassed that he had somehow thought of himself as a part of the team even though those in charge thought him no better than a walking incubator.

For their part, the team treated him the same as always and appeared to ignore his growing middle. He followed their lead and behaved the same as always, arrogant and glib, always ready with a sarcastic retort or witty comment even when his back ached with every step and he had to fight for each breath thanks to the combined pressures of the arc reactor from above and his belly from below.

It was Natasha who caught him in a moment of weakness in a corridor, leaning heavily against the wall as he fought to keep down what little he'd eaten for dinner. She urged him to sit, to take slow breaths, to let her massage his neck and shoulders to help him relax. And it helped, at least a little.

Then she took pity on him and told him what he'd feared: they all knew exactly what was going on, that he was at the center of a SHIELD project to ensure there would be another generation of superheroes waiting in the wings if (when) the worst should happen. "I was to be the carrier, until they found out I'm unable to bear children." She laughed darkly. "It is fitting that the Red Room managed to thwart their plans."

"This whole thing is fucked up" was all Tony could say. Natasha agreed.

Soon after that it was time for his "confinement" as the birth drew near. It was, in fact, a literal confinement in a suite of rooms somewhere in the labyrinth below the SHIELD headquarters in Washington, D.C. He was allowed to bring some of his tech to keep him occupied, so he spent the last couple of weeks almost solely in the company of Jarvis with occasional visits from SHIELD medical personnel for checkups and regular visits from the people who brought his food.

Labor was a long and miserable process and the less said about it, the better, save to acknowledge that it lasted nearly three days. He remembered it only as an interminable period of pain and sweat and agony, capped off with them attempting to stimulate his "breast tissue" (yes, they called it that, and no, he did not accept calling any portion of his body "breasts") to produce milk for the large and squalling baby boy. They finally gave up, but not until he was bruised and tender and he would never be able to endure someone touching his nipples during sex again.

After the birth, the child was whisked away and Tony never saw him again. He was simultaneously relieved and bereft, fully willing to acknowledge he did not want to be responsible for an infant but at the same time feeling like he should have had *something* to show for his misery.

He was kept under SHIELD supervision for two weeks afterward, presumably to make sure he was healing up properly--have to keep the incubator in prime condition--and then he was allowed to leave. He fled to California and Pepper and his house, mercifully free of any reminders of the Avengers or New York or this newest experience that would haunt his nightmares for months to come.

Pepper had no idea what he'd just gone through and he wasn't about to tell her. By the time she moved in, he'd gotten himself into something close to his former physical shape, or at least close enough that she didn't comment on his body.

Months passed in which the worst thing he had to deal with was nightmares and he built all manner of suits to protect himself from every possible eventuality he could think of. Except, of course, they would be useless against SHIELD. Whenever they decided to retrieve him, and he knew they would, he would be helpless to stop them. He'd signed a contract and contracts can only be broken by death or expensive lawsuits, never mind that his initial agreement had been under the duress of being nearly fatally ill from the palladium.

Threatening a terrorist wasn't his most intelligent move, but at least it held the promise of a possible way out, provided the terrorist could live up to his reputation. When his house was attacked and he sank beneath the waves amongst the concrete and girders, he thought that maybe, just maybe, his salvation was at hand.

He was wrong.

When the terrorist was finally defeated--by Pepper, who somehow, miraculously, emerged unscathed--the team of responding officers was none other than SHIELD. After his wounds were cleaned and his ankle put in a brace, they wanted to send him back to New York immediately to commence the next pregnancy. He managed to convince them that he needed to fix Pepper, that the formula running rampant in her system could be of use to them if he could only straighten out the kinks.

The promise of more or better tech was usually enough to get him out of trouble, and so it was in this case as well. He was allowed to leave with Pepper, to remain unmolested--figuratively and literally--until he'd tinkered with Extremis to the point that she wasn't a danger to anyone.

After that, there was no reason not to go ahead and have Dr. Wu take out the arc reactor as well. Open heart surgery had significant risks, which might prove to be his happy end, and full recovery would take a while even with the targeted version of Extremis he used to rebuild the bone and sinews removed or damaged when Yinsen had placed the first electromagnet in his chest. He hoped that major surgery would be sufficient reason to defer his next "appointment" for a few more months.

Wrong again.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was next.

It was awkward, being locked in a room with Captain America and ordered to copulate repeatedly over the course of several days to ensure that conception would occur. The intercourse was mostly perfunctory, a strictly businesslike exchange between two disinterested parties, but it got the job done.

This time, Tony was as sick as a dog almost from day one. He tried to push through, to carry on in spite of the fatigue and the unending nausea. He even went on a few missions with the team, mostly to remind them that he had uses other than as a broodmare, but that rationale lost its effectiveness when he collapsed in a puking heap as soon as he stepped out of the suit.

Everyone else was extremely solicitous when they found out just how sick he felt. He was being offered bland food, massages, and hot tea from every side, to the point that he tried not to mention the nausea because the reaction was overwhelming. More often than not, however, he didn't need to mention it because the vomiting gave it away. And then there was the time he stood up from the table--the smell of lunch was making him need to hurl--and promptly fainted dead away.

The SHIELD doctors who had confirmed the pregnancy a few weeks before were most discontent at his condition when Steve brought him down to the medical floor after the fainting incident. He'd known he'd lost weight; it was hard to deny that when his clothes were fitting more loosely than before. But evidently he'd lost over ten pounds and his blood work wasn't good. There was talk of dehydration and feeding tubes and Tony reflected bitterly that there was one very easy way to solve the entire problem.

That was not, of course, even a remote possibility for the doctors. Instead he was hooked up to an IV, had a tube shoved up his nose and down his throat, and was told he was going to have to stay on the medical floor for at least two days while they tried to stabilize him.

Two days turned into five which turned into seven as he failed to respond to the variety of anti-nausea drugs they continually pushed into his IV. This time, though, he had visitors somewhat regularly, as Steve and Natasha both came to check on him at least once a day. Bruce stopped in once or twice, and Clint came once on the third day to say he was leaving on a mission and wouldn't be back for a while.

Tony lost track of the days, for he spent a good deal of time sleeping from utter exhaustion between episodes of violent vomiting. It almost might have been entertaining to watch the expressions of utter vexation on the doctors' faces except that each episode wore him down a little more to the point that he just wanted it to fucking stop.

But they kept that tube down his throat, kept trying to pump him full of whatever that crap was, and he kept bringing it up again. Finally, in an unsupervised moment, he pulled the goddamn tube out, retching as it scraped its way up his throat, and flung it on the floor. The few hours between pulling it out and someone coming to check on him were the most peaceful he'd had in weeks.

The doctors got the hint and didn't try to put it back in. Instead, they shoved a much thinner tube into his arm and up into his torso, telling him that this was how he would be fed until his stomach proved capable of accepting and retaining food.

It took five days of being on this new treatment before his blood work had recovered to the point that the doctors were satisfied and willing to let him leave. At some point during those five days--Tony was still sleeping a good deal of the time, catching up on rest now that the puking was happening less--Steve paid him a visit to say that SHIELD was moving him to D.C. for a while.

By the time Tony had his freedom (freedom that was accompanied with a dumb little backpack that held the nutrient solution and the pump to force it through the tube), only Natasha and Bruce remained in the tower. At first he had to return to the medical floor once a day to swap out the nutrient bag, but after a week or so he convinced them that he and Bruce could handle it just fine, thank you very much. Then he only had to show his face down there once a week for blood work; after the results were in, the next week's worth of "food" would be sent up.

He still didn't feel great, and the periodic attempts to drink some water (to test whether he could try real eating again) always resulted in more puking, but at least he had his mobility and he and Bruce could spend hours tinkering in their labs, mostly focused on an idea Bruce had for containing the Hulk should he run amok.

At least, he had his mobility until the feeding had the effect of allowing the baby to grow like a weed. His pants stopped buttoning at his waist only two weeks after he'd been freed from medical, and his stomach was visibly round after four. It was earlier than last time, and he voiced a complaint the next time he had blood work. "Everyone starts showing sooner after the first one," the tech said disinterestedly.

This answer didn't satisfy him, not when his t-shirts were beginning to strain across his stomach by the time he had his next full checkup. The doctor said absolutely nothing about his much larger size this time around, not until Tony interrogated him during the ultrasound. "That happens with multiples," the doctor said absently, looking at the screen rather than him.

"Multiples?" he repeated faintly.

"You're carrying twins," the doctor said with some irritation, turning the screen to briefly show him the two blobs. This was the first time he had been allowed to see any of the images or data they collected about him; presumably, the incubator--or carrier, as Natasha had said--wasn't supposed to care what was happening inside so long as the doctors said everything was fine.

Tony remained in wide-eyed shock for a while after the ultrasound, then gradually realized it explained everything. "Dammit, Rogers, you always have to go above and beyond," he griped, throwing a few things around his workshop for good measure. Then he just felt tired and more than a little sick. Two. What the hell. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor, hugging his knees as close to his chest as he could manage with his goddamn belly in the way.

When Bruce found him, still in that position, Tony looked up at him and said, "I'm going to need bigger clothes."

This need led to a new project involving material that could stretch to accommodate the wearer without the seams cutting off circulation--helpful both for Bruce when he Hulked out and for Tony as he faced the fact that he had no idea what his final circumference might be. Not the most pleasant reason to design one's own pants and undergarments, but necessity is the mother of invention.

Natasha contributed a few ideas about designs before she, too, was sent to D.C. to serve at the whims of SHIELD. Tony almost expected to be summoned to D.C. himself any day since he was well past the halfway mark and, based on his research, twins often came early, but the doctors didn't say anything about it and he sure as hell wasn't going to suggest leaving.

When he woke in the middle of the night to a terrible cramping pain, he wondered if the doctors knew something he didn't. He couldn't move so he had Jarvis call Bruce, who arrived and then immediately left again, returning with several doctors and a stretcher. "Tony, you're bleeding, so they're going to take you downstairs to figure out what's going on," Bruce told him soothingly just before he was hefted onto the stretcher. "I'll be right behind you."

It was premature labor, because what else could possibly go wrong? Since it was too early to allow the twins to be born, the doctors tried a few things to stop it and eventually the cramping eased and disappeared. They kept him under observation until afternoon, then let him go with a strong warning to take it easy and call for help should anything seem amiss.

There were two more episodes in the six weeks that followed, but each time they were able to stop the contractions before things progressed too far. He had weekly check ups at that point, since everyone was a little on edge about making sure the twins were healthy and delivered safely.

Tony was feeling no worse than usual when he showed up for yet another check up, but the person taking his blood pressure took a reading, then stepped away and brought back two more people to help with another reading. "It's still early," one person said.

"But late enough they should be all right," another responded. "Go tell the team to prep everything."

"What's going on?" Tony demanded as the original tech and one of the other people hurried away.

"Congratulations, Mr. Stark, you're going to be giving birth very soon," the remaining doctor said patronizingly, patting him on the knee.

"What? Why?"

But there was no response to his questions, only hands guiding him toward a bed, helping him undress, and inserting an IV. By listening to their conversations over him, he determined that, rather than stopping early labor, they were trying to cause it. Something about his blood pressure and risk of seizures. His headache grew as he tried to figure out what was going on--they had taken his phone with his clothes so he couldn't ask Jarvis--but soon he was in labor again and nothing else mattered.

It was faster this time, even though there were two. The doctors were pleased that his nipples began leaking fluid at some point in the process and very quickly set him up with a pump on each side to provide a first meal for the baby girls being thoroughly examined somewhere he couldn't see them. He'd caught glimpses, though, and he thought one of them had his dark hair.

He was stuck in medical for a week after the delivery so he could start to recover. They regularly milked him like a cow, a humiliating process that involved one of the medical staff manipulating the tissue around his nipples and then attaching the pump to suck him dry.

They also had him try drinking water again and when that successfully stayed down, he graduated to nutrient smoothies while they slowly weaned him off of the solution that had kept him healthy for months. Tony wasn't sure if this process was the cause or if his body just wasn't made for breastfeeding, but the pumping drew out noticeably less milk after a couple of days and only decreased from there.

Bruce didn't normally visit him on the medical floor--it made him edgy--but after five days he appeared, looking agitated. "Tony, SHIELD is gone."

Tony and the nurse who had been changing his IV drip both stared at Bruce. "What?"

"SHIELD is no more. Steve and Natasha took it down, dumped the files on the internet. The headquarters are rubble. Look!" He brandished a tablet he'd been gripping anxiously and showed them video of the helicarriers crashing down.

"I guess you're out of a job," Tony said to the nurse, who quickly excused herself.

If he was lucky, so was he.


	3. Chapter 3

The medical staff remained despite the overthrow of SHIELD. Tony didn't get to leave for another three days, but he was completely free of all tubes and wires for the first time in months so the delay wasn't all bad.

Learning to eat again was more complicated than Tony would've expected, with lots of digestive troubles and unpleasant excretory side effects. He'd never thought he'd long for the day when a simple piece of pizza would sit easily and not have him running to the bathroom an hour later.

Still, no tube and no little backpack. Subsisting on oatmeal and smoothies was worth it. Plus, this way he had no trouble getting back to his previous weight and fitting into the armor wasn't a problem in the least.

He'd been free for maybe eight weeks when both Agent Hill and Director Fury abruptly appeared in the Avengers living room. "Security breach," Tony said as soon as he walked in and saw them. He pointed at Hill. "Where did you come from?" He turned to Fury. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Supposed to be," Fury agreed amiably. "There are many things that haven't worked out the way they were supposed to."

"Why are you here?"

"To remind you that the agreement remains in effect," Hill said evenly.

"SHIELD no longer exists. I'm not bound to that agreement anymore," Tony retorted, heading for the bar counter. "Anyone else want a drink?"

"SHIELD may not exist but the Avengers do, so your mission has not changed," Fury said, following him to the bar. "Check your records if you don't believe me. A whiskey for me, please."

"Jarvis?" Tony slid a glass to Fury, then began filling his own.

"The director is correct, sir," Jarvis said, sounding regretful. "The stipulations do not mention SHIELD as an entity, only the Avengers."

"I see," Tony said, pouring double the amount he'd originally intended into his glass, then gulping it down without pause, heedless of the potential digestive consequences.

"Do you?" Fury pressed, setting down his glass and taking a step away from the counter.

"Yes, I see that I am well and truly fucked," Tony snarled, slamming his glass down on the bar.

"See that you are," Hill said with a smirk.

"Banner or Barton. Your choice." Fury nodded to Tony as they stepped into the elevator.

When the doors closed behind them, Tony picked up his glass again and threw it at the elevator door. It shattered against the wall next to it and was quickly joined by the glass Fury had used.

Bruce came down the stairs from the lab as the second glass hit. "Whoa, what happened here?"

"Fury and Hill happened," Tony snapped. "I abhor being outmaneuvered."

Bruce got the whole story out of him piece by piece in between doses of alcohol or throwing things (or both), then persuaded him to come up to the lab so they could both think. "Have you had one of your lawyers look over the agreement?"

"And fess up to the mess I'm in? No. I'll be a laughingstock."

"You should. Pick someone discreet. There's got to be a loophole."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Tony said morosely.

"It's worth a try."

"And in the meantime? They'll be checking up on me."

"I doubt your doctors will want you trying again until you are eating more normally," Bruce said reasonably. "That will buy you some time. After that, if the lawyers still haven't figured something out, I'll volunteer to give it a go."

Tony considered this, then thought of a major flaw with Bruce volunteering. "But-"

"I know. And you know. But apparently they haven't realized it yet." Bruce shrugged. "And we need to finish working on Veronica anyway."

.

Tony waited until the next time he was summoned downstairs for a once-over to ask about the whole eating thing in relation to continuing his . . . obligation.

"Now that we know you respond well to supplemental nutrition, the eating isn't the problem, it's that you haven't started your cycle yet," the doctor said with a shrug.

"No," Tony said, then narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"There's a small capsule in your neck that monitors the level of certain hormones so we know when the, ah, mating will be most effective. It was administered with the first injection of lithium dioxide."

He was going to punch Widow the next time he saw her. Well, first he would ask if she'd known. She might have been played, too. "How soon will that happen?"

"Last time, your cycle resumed after eight weeks. So far it's been ten weeks, but since it was multiples, that makes some sense. From your current hormonal levels, you'll likely start the bleed in three to seven days, and the optimal fertilization time is eight to fourteen days after that."

He started on the fifth day and began a mental countdown. The lawyer he'd chosen, a circumspect older woman who specialized in contract law, was unable to find a plausible reason to protest the agreement as written, save the circumstances under which he'd signed it, and she wasn't sure they could make a strong enough case on those grounds alone to merit a hearing. She asked his permission to consult with a few people, though, which he gave once she assured him the subject of her inquiries would remain anonymous.

Natasha quietly reappeared at the tower one evening, her expression solemn. She folded herself into a corner of one of the couches, then announced, "The scepter is missing." She didn't need to explain to either of them what that could mean. "Steve is investigating a few leads, and we contacted Jane in hopes of reaching Thor. We're going to have to go find it."

"Right." Tony glanced toward Bruce. "Well, we're going to have to spend a bit of quality time together real soon, but we'll do whatever is needed after that."

Bruce nodded.

"Is it time for that already?" Natasha asked thoughtfully, not sounding like she wanted a response. "You have time, we don't have specific targets identified yet. We were hoping Jarvis might be able to find something we've missed."

"My mainframe is your mainframe," Tony said gallantly. "Jarvis, you know the drill."

While Natasha worked with Jarvis, Tony worked with Bruce to finalize Veronica and go through the motions of copulating. For appearances' sake, they actually did the deed a few times, but it was mostly an afterthought.

A week after Natasha appeared, Steve rejoined them. By then both he and Natasha had some solid intel on HYDRA bases that remained and the discussions focused on where and when to strike.

Clint returned to the tower a few days later, and Thor rounded out their number at the end of the week.

The next months were centered around raids and planning for more raids and Tony frequently 'forgot' about his other mission only for someone on the team to bring it up. He loved flying in the suit, contributing to the raids, inventing things to make them all more badass, but the rest . . . he had always resented his other role, and now he was coming to loathe it, especially since he was now also bankrolling the team, with the tower as the new headquarters. Why the hell was he expected to give so much for so little?


	4. Chapter 4

He and Bruce managed to continue the pretense for over six months that Bruce might be able to father a child, not that they actually tried that long. The game was finally up on one of their stops back at the tower between raids. They were all on the medical floor to be patched up and checked over when the doctor working on Tony asked idly if he was pregnant yet. "That is not relevant," Tony said icily.

"But it is," Hill said, stepping into the room, her arms crossed. "If you aren't abiding by the terms of the agreement, you are no longer on the team."

"Fine. I'm no longer on the team. You realize that also means you'd no longer have access to my money, right? How do you plan on running the Avengers then?"

Hill's mouth compressed into a thin line. He had her there and she knew it. "You should check the agreement for what happens if you don't comply. I will activate that clause if I have to."

She turned on her heel and left. Tony stormed out a few moments later.

Clint caught up with him in the hallway and pushed him against the wall. "Hey, I promise I won't hurt you. I know how to treat a woman."

Tony squirmed against his grip and the hips thrusting against him. "Not a woman," he protested, even as Barton forced his pants down.

"Really? Then why are you on the receiving end?" Clint asked as he thrust into Tony.

It was quick and rough and probably wouldn't amount to anything except another tear in his already tattered pride.

Clint accosted him a couple more times in the weeks before their final raid on Baron Strucker's encampment, but Tony accepted it as what had to happen to maintain the status quo. He'd checked that non-compliance clause and shuddered, resolving not to test Hill. Far better to work on an extrication agreement with his lawyer lady in hopes that Hill (and Fury) might prove reasonable if enough money was thrown at them.

They found the scepter.

Tony and Bruce somehow managed to create Ultron.

In Ultron's maniacal plot to cleanse the earth of Avengers, Tony detected his own resentment for the team and what they'd done to him.

He wasn't sorry, though he regretted the collateral damage that Ultron caused.

Here, again, was an opportunity, the potential to bring his predicament to an end. As he worked with Thor to blow up the plummeting rock, he wished desperately that the power drain would be too much, that he would fall or be crushed and that would be the end.

But still he survived.

He gave the Avengers a new headquarters on some old property of his father's and began negotiating with Hill to remove himself from the team. Under a preliminary agreement, he told everyone he was leaving, departed the compound, and went back to his tower to oversee repairs to the rooms damaged by Ultron.

His feeling of freedom lasted for about six weeks.

That was when he realized he didn't quite feel right, his clothes didn't quite feel right, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd bled.

A cheap drugstore pregnancy test informed him he was pregnant. Again. God fucking dammit. Fucking Clint Barton who had three of his own kids and still felt the need to knock Tony up as well.

He debated what to do for an entire week.

There was really only one choice.

He gathered up his courage, dressed as inconspicuously as possible, and rode down the elevator, his stomach churning.

Maria Hill was waiting for him at the bottom. "If you come quietly, I'll consider it compliance with the agreement. Or I can have you knocked out. Your choice."

"Go to hell," he said, but raised his hands in surrender.

"Damn, I was hoping you'd struggle," she said, then nodded her head and something hit him from behind.

He came to in a hospital bed. Or, more accurately, strapped into a hospital bed that was angled so he was staring into a blank corner. There was a tube running into his arm and another running into his bladder, but none of the medical equipment was visible and there was a strap across his forehead that kept him from turning his head to look for it.

They had learned their lesson and used handcuffs for his wrists and ankles rather than anything he could try to pick apart. At first he simply stared at the wall and waited to see what they'd do. He was hoping for some sort of opening whenever someone came to tend him, as they would have to do--catheter bags don't empty themselves--but long hours seemed to pass without anyone coming.

He called for Friday but got no response. He hadn't expected one; they would have had to take her offline at some point for this to work. If they had waited to do it until after knocking him out, then she might have called for help. It seemed like a long shot.

After a while he concluded that they were waiting until he dozed off to come into the room, so he tried to keep himself awake by maintaining an endless monologue about whatever came into his mind and attempting to work his hands free of the cuffs. He had no idea how long he was able to manage this--the light of the room was always dim and there were no windows--but he met with no success.

It took him longer than it should have to realize they were probably drugging him unconscious for the times they needed to come into the room.

He also made the mistake of saying aloud that he was considering breaking something to get his hands free. The next time he woke, his arms were immobilized from just above the elbow down to his fingertips in old school plaster casts that were then tied to the railings of the bed. He tried pulling against the restraints, but the casts were heavy and he had no leverage. His legs were similarly restricted, and his pitiful efforts to pull them free had him feeling frustrated and very weak.

He started consciously working his muscles as best he could, flexing and stretching within his bonds, because he had no idea how long they were planning to keep him here and he had to do something to keep himself occupied. So he did his little 'workout' routine and talked to himself and thought darkly about all of the ways he could end Fury and Hill.

His existence was timeless, interrupted only by periods of unconsciousness--both the normal sleeping kind and the enforced drugged kind--and he felt himself begin to lose his grip on reality. It seemed like he'd always been here, would always be here, and only the fact that his gut wasn't overly large yet told him that he hadn't been here for the months that it felt like.

Still, he'd been there long enough he was feeling sore spots where his body touched the bed, long enough that biting his tongue until it bled to force someone to come while he was awake seemed like a good idea.

When he woke again, he'd been decked out with a muzzle like Loki and he laughed hysterically until tears ran down his face and something inside seemed to shatter.

No one was coming for him. He was going to be the immobile incubator they'd always wanted. There was nothing he could do except continue to exist while they did whatever they wished to his body until they were satisfied. If they would ever be satisfied.

He found he was no longer capable of caring, no longer capable of rational thought, no longer capable of anything but staring blankly at the wall.

And then he saw a purple apparition float through one of his blank walls.


	5. Chapter 5

"Help is coming," the purple people eater informed him solemnly.

No, that wasn't right. The purple being seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn't remember. His mind had performed a hard shutdown a while back and he'd seen no reason to try restarting it.

Then the being vanished from his sight, though he could hear it saying, "He is here. The police will be needed."

Something about that statement seemed like it should elicit a reaction. He felt nothing, even as there was a burst of activity behind him, the sound of feet and voices and a whirring that sent a shot of reassurance through him.

Before he could dissect that reflex, the people were surrounding him, the bed was moving slightly away from the wall, there were flashing lights and voices that addressed him in a torrent of words that he couldn't interpret quickly enough.

It was loud and overwhelming and he began to panic, his chest heaving faster than he could draw in air even though someone had removed the muzzle. He clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, his mouth moving as he tried to form the words that would make it stop.

"Too much," he whispered finally, then repeated himself. "Too much, too much, too much--"

The whirring stopped with a clank and a new voice rose above the chaos. "Shut up and give him some space," it commanded.

Mercifully, the noise level dropped immediately, though his heart still raced and it remained difficult to breathe.

"You, taking the photos, you two with the medkit, and one of you to take notes. You can stay. Everybody else out."

He only vaguely understood the words. Then the owner of the voice stepped into his view and he recognized him with a sudden spark of insight. "Rhodey."

"Tony," Rhodey said gently, remaining out of the way until the straps holding his upper body immobile were removed. Then he was there, helping him sit up, coaching him through taking slower breaths.

But the shreds of memory that were coming back had him panicking anew and he buried his face in Rhodey's shoulder in humiliation at what he remembered. He would have clutched his friend, but his arms remained immobilized in the casts and he was too weak to move them.

Rhodey remained within reach as the others worked to free him from the restraints and the casts and then tended his various wounds. "How long?" Tony asked dully as one of the arm casts was removed to reveal the partially healed wounds around his wrist.

"You've been incommunicado for six weeks. I'm so sorry I didn't realize something was wrong sooner. I didn't think anything about not hearing from you until one of your lawyers contacted me and Pepper about not being able to get in touch with you."

"They wouldn't have let you realize sooner. Unless..." His eyes narrowed. "What do you know?"

The confusion on Rhodey's face was honest. "What are you talking about? Who's 'they'?"

"Where's Hill?" he demanded.

"Hill? She's at the compound, like always. Why? Tony, what's going on?"

"Mr. Stark, I need to move you onto your stomach so we can see to these sores," one of the medical people said.

He chuckled darkly. "That's not the best position for my condition," he said snidely. "Didn't you look at whatever records they had on your way in here?"

"I'll take a look," the other medical person said, hurrying out of the room.

"Tony, what's going on?" Rhodey demanded.

Quick footsteps returned. "It says he's with child, about sixteen weeks along," the second person said with disbelief.

"But--" Rhodey started.

"You mean they didn't tell you that one of the perks of team membership is having a turn to knock up the resident billionaire? Congratulations, now you're in on the Avengers' dirty little secret," Tony said.

"That's--that's inhuman," Rhodey protested.

"Talk to Natasha if you don't believe me. Or ask Rogers about our twins. I think he gets to see them. I never have."

"Oh my God," Rhodey said weakly. "You, taking notes, get Agent Romanoff."

Tony sighed and drooped against Rhodey's chest, exhausted from the adrenaline and all of the unaccustomed movement. The medical types helped him shift onto his side so they could deal with the sores.

Rhodey interrogated Romanoff in a low tone as soon as she appeared and did not seem to like what he heard. "How could you allow this?" he demanded, raising his voice. She responded quietly so Tony couldn't hear her, but whatever she said was enough that Rhodey didn't yell again and allowed her to approach the bed.

"I need it gone," Tony said to her.

She nodded once. "Are you willing to go to a hospital?"

He shuddered. "No, it's bad enough that the police are involved."

"We'll have people sent to you. Here or at the compound?"

"Here is safer once I get Friday back online. Hill?"

She grimaced. "Gone to ground. The medical staff have all been arrested, along with the security personnel."

"It's a start," he said with a sigh. "Are all of the new recruits in the dark, or just Rhodey?"

"All of them. I thought your negotiations with Hill meant you were done."

"So did I, and then I realized... I was going to take care of it, but Hill happened."

"I'm sorry," she said simply and he knew she meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

Recovery took weeks for the bed sores and months for the muscle wasting. His internal bits recovered the fastest; he would have had them removed entirely, but no one would agree to do the surgery in one of his labs and he refused to set foot on the medical floor or allow himself to be vulnerable in a hospital.

His mind... well, to say he wasn't coping well with this latest kidnapping would be putting it mildly.

He began researching the neuroscience of traumatic memories while still bed-bound after his rescue. Rhodey convinced him to talk to a shrink, which lasted a total of two visits before he summarily declared he was going to fix things himself.

As soon as he was able to move freely and tend to his own needs, he dismissed the home health nurse and holed up on one of his research and development floors to work out the kernel of an idea he'd developed as a result of his research. Rhodey was more persistent than the nurse and insisted that he continue to allow the physical therapist to visit, which he did.

Eventually Rhodey needed to leave to return to the Avengers but made Tony promise to send regular messages so he could be sure all was well. Tony promptly automated the updates, directing Friday to send them once daily as long as she was running and he was breathing. Any attempt to take her offline would be met with a distress signal broadcast to both Rhodey and Pepper. It wasn't much, but it would do.

His lawyer lady came to visit semi regularly to keep him updated on the trials of those arrested at the tower and the case being developed against Fury and Hill, should they be located. A manhunt remained underway, but he knew they were smart enough to evade traditional law enforcement officers. He double- and triple-checked his security measures and tried not to think about them.

The invitation to speak at MIT came just as he was admiring the prototype for his retroframing system and he said yes without thinking too hard about it. He'd owed them a talk for years, and he needed to do it to prove to himself that he could, that he was more than what the Avengers had made of him.

Being confronted by the woman from the State Department was unexpected but not surprising once he found out Ross's endgame in sending her. Secretary Ross was a slimy bastard like Fury and Hill and Tony didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, but the Accords seemed promising on a number of fronts.

Ross thought he agreed out of guilt. But while there was guilt in spades, over the civilians in Sokovia especially, that was only a small part of his rationale.

No, oversight by the U.N. meant abuse like what he'd suffered was that much less likely to happen, and that made all the difference.

He looked at Wanda, at that kid in Queens who he still needed to talk to, at the other emerging superpeople, and knew he couldn't allow his experience to become theirs.

Most of all, he couldn't allow his children to suffer such indignities.

Natasha had given him the names and details of his children as soon as she thought him ready for the information. He could not bring himself to look at it for weeks, but even so, the mere idea of a Fury or a Hill using one of them the way he'd been used had him wishing he could Hulk out and destroy anyone and anything that threatened them.

He set up trust funds for each of them. His lawyer offered to sue for guardianship, but he wasn't ready for that. He was still deeply ambivalent about the idea of kids, much less the fact that he had three.

When he'd finally looked at the files Natasha provided--on paper, because digital could end up on the internet--he was relieved that all three were at that mutant school. He'd heard good things about the place, and he was reasonably certain they were as safe there as they could be anywhere.

Almost as soon as he'd learned that tidbit, a note arrived from Professor X himself, the freaky bastard, inviting Tony to visit and meet with him whether he chose to see the children or not. He kept the offer in reserve for when the MIT thing was done.

After Siberia happened, the trials of his abusers at the tower threatened to be undone by his steadfast refusal to allow the lawyers to reveal his identity. Faced with the possibility of every single individual getting off scot-free when he still had nightmares, he decided to go public.

It wasn't an easy decision and was made in consultation with his therapist--and yes, he had a therapist now because at this point there was no way he could live without one. The trials concluded with convictions in every single case and he took it one step further.

After he had his lawyer file the custody paperwork, Tony contacted Christine Everhart and gave her the exclusive tell-all interview of her life.

As soon as the interview aired, it seemed like the world exploded. There was a frenzy of speculation about whether SHIELD had other such 'contracts' and if the disappearances of various individuals over the years were related. Calls for the dissolution of the Avengers organization were strident and coming from all sides. Doubts about whether so-called superheroes could be trusted were widespread, especially with this coming so closely on the heels of the debacle that was Budapest and Leipzig. Warrants were issued for those with a role in his abuse, especially Fury and Hill.

Tony let his lawyers and the press people handle things while he took a solitary drive to the mutant school. Rhodey offered to accompany him, but he needed to do this alone.

He strolled slowly up to the stately building, hearing the shouts of playing children from somewhere out of sight, and wondered if he was doing the right thing. For a moment he thought about turning back, but straightened his shoulders and plowed ahead.

The front door opened as he approached, a bald man in a wheelchair coming into view. "Tony," he said warmly. "Welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, aspects of this ending don't quite make logical sense, but I'd rather acknowledge it and move on than try to fix it when my brain is already well beyond this and into post-Infinity War land. :-)


End file.
